Okay, before I get going—I’ve never actually done something like this before.
I mean, yeah, don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a Tumblr account for a few years now, but it’s mostly just been Gravity Falls, Dimension 20, and Locked Tomb fanart. Maybe with some Owl House and Amphibia sprinkled in. Basically, just fun stuff for me.
This is… a little different.
Since this is an account of what’s legit happening in my life—and, let’s be honest, you’re probably gonna be able to Google some of this—we’re throwing anonymity out the window here. I’d say look up “Mormon murder case,” but that doesn’t exactly narrow things down.
So… introductions, and some explanations.
I’m Jade Watson. She/her. I’m twenty years old, I’m from Portland, Oregon, and I just moved to Vancouver. The one in Canada.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Portland and how weird it is, but Portland is where my parents live. And without getting into all the nitty-gritty details, my parents are ex-military, insanely strict, really believe in respecting authority, and have been pushing me to become a doctor since I was a kid.
I, on the other hand, have raging ADHD that I literally just got a diagnosis for, am a “troubled kid” who got into fights in school and developed an “eat the rich” attitude pretty early on, I think that the military causes more problems than good, and the thought of all those years of medical school makes me break out in hives.
So, yeah. I needed to get outta there. Thanks, therapy.
Thankfully, for the past six years, I’ve been in a D&D group on Discord—and believe it or not, we’re actually on our second campaign, and we’ve managed to have regular biweekly meetups against all odds. And, in the past six years, all of the members of the campaign have moved to Vancouver… including me, as of about a week ago.
I’d been “undeclared” at PSU for the past couple years, which, in translation, means that I was completely at a loss for what to do and starting to get more than a little depressed, but once I decided that I was gonna transfer to UBC, I found out that they had a kinesiology program.
In case you don’t know, kinesiology is the scientific study of movement in the human body. It’s kind of like sports science. And since I’ve always been interested in biology, and I’m a bit of a jock—if bouldering and occasionally getting into fistfights makes you a jock—that kind of felt like the perfect thing to study.
So, I put in my transfer, changed my degree, applied for a job at a climbing gym there so I wouldn’t be completely broke in a new city, and had the obligatory fight with my parents about moving to a different country. Apparently, even the fact that I’m studying something medical-adjacent isn’t good enough for the Sergeants Watson.
You see why I had to get out of there, right?
Of course, being practically broke with zero parental support meant that I had to get to Vancouver by myself. The drive isn’t that bad in theory—especially since I didn’t have a lot of stuff to bring—but my car, Betty, is a) roughly my age, and b) not exactly built for long travel.
And there was an accident on the highway.
And the border was a nightmare.
And there was traffic as soon as I got into the city.
Add all of that up, and I arrived at my DM’s house… oh, about six hours later than I said I’d be there.
Lucky for me, Mika’s literally the sweetest, kindest, and most understanding person on the planet.
(Should I go into Mika? I feel like I should go into Mika.)
Okay, uh… can you tell I didn’t plot this out beforehand? Yeah, this is all stream-of-consciousness, I’m sorry about that.
But anyways. Mika Santos.
They’re five years older than me, and their uncle runs a game store near where I grew up—that’s how we met, I told him I was having a hard time finding a group and he immediately told me about his nibling in Canada who was trying to get a group going. And through Mika, I met Daria Lisowski (a take-no-shit kind of person who shows she cares by being brutally honest), Katie Winter (a complete ball of energy and the only member of the group who’s close to my age), and Anoosh Farahmand (a genuine, actual himbo, the likes of which I didn’t think existed in real life until I met him).
Lots of things have happened since we met—Mika and Daria started dating (and got engaged a few months ago!), Katie dumped her shitty boyfriend and got the hell out of her Midwest-small-town, and Anoosh… well, he pretty much just moved to Vancouver because he felt bad about being the only one not in the Pacific Standard time zone, but he’s thriving here. He’s got a boyfriend and everything. So I’m not gonna lie, it felt really good to finally join everyone in the “making a big change in my life” club.
Back to me arriving at Mika’s.
I collapsed onto the couch as soon as I got there—didn’t change or anything, I even forgot to take off my glasses—and I slept for… god, I don’t even know how long. When I woke up, Mika was cooking breakfast, and Daria was very insistent that I take a shower.
Again. Driving for twelve hours.
After I got cleaned up and started chowing down (Mika’s cooking is legendary, by the way, it’s insane that they’re a YouTuber-slash-lighting-technician and not a professional chef), our conversation went like this:
Mika: So, Jade! When do you start at the climbing gym?
Me: *mouth is entirely full of delicious food* Mmph-mmf-mmmph-mmmf.
Mika: Um, what was that?
Me: *swallows* In two weeks. Give or take.
Daria: Hey, look at you. New city, new job, new school, new major—I’m looking at a whole new Jade.
Me: *actually feeling confident* Yeah, I—
Daria: So, have you figured out where you’re gonna live yet?
Me:
Daria:
Mika: Jade?
Me: Whoops.
So… yeah.
Did I mention that I have untreated-until-recently ADHD?
Apparently, amidst all of my planning-out-my-new-life-trajectory stuff, fueled by medication and a better sleep schedule, I figured out everything except where I’m actually going to live.
Brilliant, Watson. Real stroke of genius there.
So, after I screamed into every single pillow in the Santos-Lisowski household—and Daria dumped a glass of water over my head after she decided that I was being too hard on myself—Mika told me that they’d give me a hand finding an apartment, and in the meantime, I could crash with them.
“How the hell am I gonna be able to find an apartment?” I said. “I haven’t even started my job yet, and it’s not like I get an advance on my paycheck.”
“You could find a roommate,” Mika suggested. “It’s usually a good idea to get a roommate or two when you’re finding an apartment, anyway.”
I snorted. “Oh, come on, Mika, who the hell would want me as a roommate?”
At that point, I figured they’d immediately tell me to stop devaluing myself, and Daria was already heading into the kitchen to fill up another water glass. But they just stared at me for a few seconds.
“Okay, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” they said, looking thoughtful. “It’s just… you’re the second person this week who’s asked me that question.”
Huh.
“Who was the first?” I asked, right before Daria poured cold water over me again.
Who was the first? Now, that’s a pretty damn good question.
When Mika offered to introduce us, I said yes. I mean, why not? It wasn’t like I didn’t already know people in Vancouver, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to at least get to know this person a little. Plus, according to Mika, she was a student at UBC, too—they’d met her in a class they took in senior year, and they’d just gotten back in touch. Apparently, this girl already had a bachelor’s degree in criminology under her belt, but she liked the learning aspect of college—excuse me, university—so much that she went back for another round.
Call me crazy, but I was picturing someone who was at least Mika’s age, if not older. Probably someone who was either as sunny and warm as they were, or who was as chic and confident as Daria. Someone nerdy, but still relatively normal.
As you can probably guess, that’s not who I was about to meet.
Instead of meeting up at a coffee shop or a library or somewhere you’d normally meet a prospective roommate, we met at a storage unit. A storage unit that had been converted into a full-on mad scientist’s lab.
Okay, maybe not a mad scientist’s lab, but a full lab in a storage unit doesn’t exactly scream “regular person,” and I was definitely not going to meet a regular person.
“Mika, if she’s a serial killer, you legally have to tell me,” I said in an undertone as we walked inside.
“Nah, she’s not a serial killer. The opposite, actually.” Mika raised her voice. “Hey-o! Anyone home?”
Before I could ask what exactly “the opposite” meant, my mystery maybe-roommate came out from behind one of the desks full of beakers.
So. Lemme pause for a second, and do a little word-picture here. And yeah, it has to be a word picture, because my Apple Pencil’s broken at the moment.
The girl standing in front of me was Black, and at least a full head shorter than me—not that that’s saying much, I’m the definition of “gangly,” but without the heeled boots, I would’ve been surprised if she was taller than five feet two. Between the long, twin-braided pigtails and the black-and-purple Victorian-Gothic outfit, she looked like she was either cosplaying Wednesday Addams or trying to pass as a vampire. Or both.
I’m not kidding about the outfit, by the way. Aside from lab goggles and rubber gloves, this girl was dressed like Mina Harker with pants.
Did Mina Harker wear pants?
I haven’t read Dracula.
“Um.” I raised my hand. “Hi, I’m—”
“She’s not an art major, is she?” the girl asked, surprising me even further by speaking with a posh British accent—apparently, it’s called an RP accent, though I wasn’t really aware of the distinction at the time. “You know I don’t mind creative-types, Santos, I’m acquaintances with you, after all, but living with one—”
“She’s a kinesiology major,” Mika jumped in, grinning from ear to ear. “Fitting, right? She’s studying bodies in motion, and you—”
“Are studying bodies in rigor mortis,” she finished, giving her a black-lipsticked smile. “Yes, very amusing, Santos, but she is an artist.”
Mika shrugged. “Thought you didn’t have a problem with creative-types.”
“No, I don’t.” The girl let out a sigh. “I suppose I have nothing to complain about, I do play the violin. Besides, paintings and sculptures are a good way to decorate an apartment.”
I frowned, definitely confused at this point. “Uh, I mostly do digital art these days? And how did—”
“Oh, digital art, perfect, why didn’t you say so? I adore animation, it’s a science on its own, truly fascinating stuff.” Before I could tell her that I wasn’t exactly an animator, she took off her lab glasses and held out her hand to shake. “Lovely to meet you, Miss…?”
Not knowing what else to do, I shook her hand. “Jade. Jade Watson.”
“Well, Watson, I’m honored to make your acquaintance,” she said (she actually said that, I’m not even kidding). “My name is Shirley Holmes, and my pronouns are she and her. I’m from London, in case you couldn’t tell via my accent, and I’ll be attending the University of British Columbia this fall, studying mortuary sciences. This will be my second time attending this fascinating college, and my first time attending the undergraduate program as an adult.”
Yeah. You read that right.
Adult.
“Sorry, wait—how old are you?” I asked.
Shirley gave me a confused expression. “Why—twenty, same as you. Did Santos not tell you that?”
“Ah, I figured I’d let the two of you be surprised,” Mika said, giving both of us a shoulder squeeze. “I know you like getting first impressions of people, Shirley, and I wanted to see how Jade would react.”
“You didn’t warn her about my eccentricies?” Shirley repeated.
Mika shook their head.
“Ah.” She clicked her tongue. “That explains the expression on Watson’s face.”
I had an expression on my face. Apparently.
Shirley clasped her hands and looked me in the eye. “Watson, you should know that while I do my level best to be as sociable, as polite, and as charming as I can, there are several things about me that, while I could certainly mask in a social setting, would absolutely be impossible to hide if we were to live together.”
“Okay…”
“I am, apparently, a genius,” she continued. “This might come as a surprise, as I am a very poor student when it comes to subjects that I am not personally interested in, but in this world, having a photographic memory, excellent observation skills, and a reading level far above those your age means that you skip four grades and forego several valuable years of learning how to connect with your peers. Also, my quote-unquote status as ‘a gifted individual—’” she did air quotes— “comes with a hefty dose of neurodivergence, as I am not only autistic, but I also suffer from mild OCD and anxiety. I am sure that one look at my outfit tells you all you need to know about my taste in decor, I often conduct experiments that smell odd at best and are considered ‘grotesque’ at worst, I play the violin when I have difficulty sleeping, and I’ve been told that I have an unreasonable addiction to coffee and caffeine as a whole. Taking all of those things into consideration, am I truly someone who you would want as a roommate?”
She’d been talking incredibly fast up until that point, and her mouth pretty much snapped shut as she waited for me to respond.
Now… hearing all of that, I’m sure a lot of people would’ve said no. I wasn’t gonna judge her for being neurodivergent—I’d be a hypocrite if I did—but goth decor, mad-sciency experiments, midnight violin, and a tiny genius hopped up on expresso are probably all dealbreakers for someone else.
But I had already been rehearsing a speech about my ADHD, and how I’d only just started medication. I was all prepared to warn Shirley that the littlest thing could set me off when I was feeling stressed, that I was still learning how to be a functioning adult and human being, that I’d probably brought a lot of my Portlander habits with me and would insist on composting, taking public transit when we could afford it, and finding out if Vancouver had a version of Ridwell so a tiny part of me didn’t die inside when we threw away plastics with regular waste.
And though I know by know that she would never admit it, Shirley looked a lot like she was trying not to panic and/or cry.
“That’s fine,” I told her, shrugging as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
She blinked, shaking her head a few times. “That’s—really?”
“I mean, it’s gonna take some getting used to, don’t get me wrong, but you’re not the only one with weird shit,” I admitted. “I’ve got anger issues that I’m still working on. And I just got diagnosed with ADHD.”
“Oh.” Shirley visibly relaxed at that. “If you’d like, I can assist you in getting accommodations set up with disability services.”
“I… that’d be great, yeah.”
She paused. “So, just to clarify, because I do need things clearly stated at times—you would like to be my roommate?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“You would put up with me, and all my oddities, for the sake of having a decent roof over your head?”
“That’s what I’m saying, yeah.”
She didn’t talk for a full minute.
Mika snapped their fingers in front of her face. “Um, Shirles? You—”
“EXCELLENT!” Shirley shrieked, grabbing my hands. “Watson, I promise you, you will not regret this decision, and I will make sure of it! Tell me something—are you a fan of baked goods?”
“Of course I’m a fan of baked goods, what does that have to do with—”
“Perfect.” She let go of my hands and pulled out her phone. “I have my eye on a very nice apartment above this lovely little bakery called Hudson’s—I’m on excellent terms with the owner, I go there every Saturday morning and I have a feeling you two will get along swimmingly. If I could have your phone number?”
“Woah, woah, wait, hang on,” I interrupted. “Don’t you want to know a little bit more about me?”
She stopped. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” I gestured to myself. “All you know about me is that I’m an ADHD artist and a kinesiology major, and you probably know that I play D&D. Don’t you want to—”
“Ah, yes, that. Did you drive here in your car?”
These are the kinds of questions that Shirley Holmes asks.
“To the storage unit, or to Vancouver?”
She thought for a second. “Both, I suppose.”
“I mean, the answer to both those questions is yes, but—”
“May I see it?”
Out of sheer curiosity more than anything, I told her she could see it.
As soon as we went outside and she got a good look at it, she turned back to me. “Watson, are you genuinely passionate about kinesiology, or are you simply studying it because you hoped it would make your parents approve of your move to Canada?”
I am not joking.
That is legit what she said.
I immediately turned to Mika. “What did you—”
“I told her nothing,” they said, holding up their hands. “This is just how she operates, swear to God.”
“It is how I operate,” Shirley confirmed. “And you haven’t answered my question.”
This fucking girl.
“Okay.” I put my hands on my hips. “Before I answer your question, walk me through how looking at Betty got you to ask that question in the first place.”
“Why, certainly.” She cleared her throat.
And then proceeded to blow my mind.
“Now, Santos deliberately told me absolutely nothing about you, repeatedly insisting that they wanted to see me ‘work my magic’ on you firsthand,” she began, starting to walk around Betty. “However, based on your accent alone, I was able to deduce that you are from the Pacific Northwest, and the fact that you were able to drive here only confirms that. And while I’m sure that I would’ve been able to figure out exactly where you were from in other ways, the ‘keep Portland weird’ bumper sticker on… Betty here indicates that you are from the land of Laika Studios, Powell’s Books, and Voodoo Donuts. I am quite jealous about that first part, by the way, The Boxtrolls was one of my favorite movies as a child.
“However, this car, while clearly well-loved, is rather old, and I highly doubt that it is something that most parents would allow their child to drive across state lines in, let alone border lines, and a quick glance inside the windows shows that you have quite a bit of personal belongings in the backseat and trunk. If your parents approved of your decision to move to Canada, I would wager that they would either offer to drive you or purchase a plane ticket to Vancouver, and either way, they would have your things shipped after you arrived.
“Beyond that, you are very much dressed in a punk fashion—and I did notice both a ‘fuck the police’ and an ‘eat the rich’ bumper sticker on your car, both of which I wholeheartedly approve of—”
Mika coughed. “Says the rich kid.”
“I’m more than aware of my own privilege, Santos, and my parents are nowhere near billionaire status.” Shirley rested a hand on Betty’s hood. “Taking that in with the alarmingly long ponytail and the rough, paint-stained hands of an artist and an athlete—rock climbing, I suspect, judging by the callouses—and you have yourself the picture of a free-spirited rebel against society… and yet, you have absolutely impeccable posture. So…” She raised an eyebrow. “This one is a bit of a reach, I’ll admit, but I’m guessing… military parents? Or parents who simply believed in decorum?”
I want you guys to understand that I asked Shirley to recount exactly what she said for this blog post, just so I didn’t miss anything.
Look, I believed her when she said she was a genius. But it’s one thing for someone to tell you they’re a genius, and it’s another thing for them to get one look at you and your car and immediately read you for filth.
“Military,” I finally managed. “And—and I am passionate about kinesiology. I love my art, but—”
“It’s a hobby,” Shirley concluded. “One that you feel you would lose passion for if you were forced to do it for a living.”
Completely out of things to say, I just gave her a nod.
Shirley started to look a little unsure. “I am correct, am I not? Your parents—”
“They wanted me to be a doctor,” I told her. “A real doctor, not sports medicine. And, well, I’m pretty sure they also wanted me to join the army someday, so if I move to a different country…”
“Ah.” She sucked in a breath through her teeth. “I’m not going to lie, I was rather hoping that I’d missed the mark on this one.”
“They’re just—strict,” I said lamely. “A lot of expectations. They’ll get over it eventually.”
And you know what? Maybe they will. Maybe time away from them is what I need, and time away from me is what they need to realize that they should’ve done a better job supporting me. Or, at least, gotten me tested at any point between the ages of zero and eighteen.
Yeah, Shirley, I know you don’t believe me.
And yes, I know that you’re reading this over my shoulder, just because you’re short doesn’t mean I can’t tell you’re there.
Don’t touch my meat sticks.
Thank you.
So, yeah. As you can probably guess, we did, in fact, move in together.
Shirley might be a terrifyingly perceptive, unnervingly cheery, overcaffeinated goth genius, but she’s also incredibly interesting, which is a win in my book. And, y’know, it’s nice to have a fellow queer and neurodivergent roommate.
Oh, yeah, I’m bi. Did I not mention that?
Shirley’s looking over my shoulder again and telling me that I didn’t mention that.
And she just gave me the a-okay to let you guys know that she’s a demisexual lesbian, so… ladies, you’re in luck.
Aaaaaaaand she’s rolling her eyes and walking away.
Pretty sure that’s, like, her fourth cup of coffee. She was not kidding about that addiction.
Anyway, we met up last week to take a tour of the apartment and sign the lease, and—can I just say, our apartment could’ve been the shittiest studio in the world, and I still would’ve signed the lease, because the smell from the bakery alone is heaven. Seriously, guys, if you’re ever in Vancouver, stop by Hudson’s. The four-and-a-half star rating is well deserved.
Shirley introduced me to Hudson, who turned out to be a full half-foot taller than me, three times as wide, and with a glorious salt-and-pepper beard that’s the perfect combination of scruffy and well-groomed. I can also confirm that he gives the best hugs in the history of ever, and always smells like cinnamon.
Since Hudson lives in the apartment below us, I also got to meet his husband. His name is Lawrence Chen, he’s incredibly chill and weirdly funny, and he’s a criminal defense lawyer.
Yep, you read that right. He’s a lawyer named Lawrence.
He goes by Larry. Well, to everyone but Shirley.
But yeah, our apartment is actually way better than I thought it’d be. It’s a two-bed, one-bath, with a full kitchen and more than enough space for a comfy living room setup—and a fire escape for Shirley to do late-night pondering sessions on. Hudson gave us permission to decorate the apartment however we’d like, walls included, so she’s been watching this show called Gothic Homemakers for the past few days in order to get “proper inspiration.”
As long as she lets me put up some paintings and goes easy on the skulls, I’m cool with what she decides.
At this point, you might be wondering: “Jade, why the hell are you doing all of this? I mean, yeah, Shirley definitely seems like a unique character, but how come you’re typing this all up for the Internet to see?”
Well, as I very recently learned, Shirley is studying mortuary sciences so she can, in her words, get a university experience that’ll “allow me to interact more with those my age, so I can make up for the years I could’ve spent studying and deciphering the fascinatingly complex social rituals of my generation.” No interest in becoming a mortician at all.
But she is putting that criminology degree to good use. Because in her spare time, Shirley is… wait for it…
An amateur sleuth.
I am being one hundred percent serious. My new roommate is a goth, Gen Z version of Nancy Drew.
And pretty much immediately after we signed the lease, she wound up taking me on one of her cases. It was definitely one of the freakiest experiences of my life…
But if I’m gonna be honest? It was also the most fun.
So, if any of this intrigues you, I’m going to be writing down the whole thing in full, as best as I can remember—and I’ll probably need to ask Shirley for help, since she’s the one with the photographic memory and all. Of course, if mysteries aren’t your thing, feel free to scroll past.
But if mysteries are your thing…
Well.
Welcome to the blog of Jade H. Watson. And have fun reading as I tell you about my adventures with Shirley Holmes.
